Not Fighting Is Fighting

The candlelight danced inside the tent while the wind shoved at the canvas outside.

Harrion raised his sword over his head, his eyes blazing as he looked at Jon.

Meiqi Saiwen stepped forward as well.

"Jon, the soldiers of House Seaworth are yours too!"

With that, he too drew his sword like Harrion, making his stance clear.

"House Manderly as well!"

Before long, swords were drawn one after another, like the prelude to some stirring anthem.

They all raised their swords above their heads, signaling their willingness to follow Jon's command.

With a rough count, such people actually made up two-thirds of the crowd!

Jon had not expected to get a taste of being the "King in the North" so soon.

Of course, none of them had actually knelt to him.

Even so, this declaration was worlds apart from how he had been excluded before.

Roose Bolton's face grew increasingly grim at the sight.

Candlelight fell across his face, and the shadows cast by his features swayed over it as though a conspiracy were taking shape.

In Roose Bolton's eyes, Jon was an overlooked bastard. There was no way he could resist such temptation.

A struggle over military command was bound to erupt.

Not far away, Howland Reed tensed his body and slowed his breathing.

"Jon, don't agree. Please don't agree."

Write to tell Robb? Roose Bolton pondered. Or simply hand command over to him, and then...

No matter what, he would not—and dared not—leave with the Dreadfort's troops just like that.

There was no doubt that Robb and Jon would settle the score with him afterward.

For all he knew, the Dreadfort might become Jon's fief someday, and House Bolton would have no place left in the North.

Just as he was about to speak, Jon suddenly rose to his feet.

Is it starting? Roose Bolton's pupils contracted as his fist secretly clenched.

Jon turned to face the crowd and drew his sword.

Roose Bolton's heart began to pound wildly. He remembered once losing too much blood; his heart had raced just as fast then.

But in the next moment, Jon slowly spoke.

"My lords, I know that because of this battle, you have grievances against Lord Bolton. But under those circumstances, abandoning a battlefield that had already been lost was the wise choice.

"Robb entrusted Lord Bolton with command of the army and the task of holding Tywin in check. There is no doubt that was a wise decision."

"Hm?"

Jon's stance left Roose Bolton stunned.

He could hardly believe it. Jon was actually speaking for him?

His eyes widened as he stared at the boy's back. Jon continued.

"I am merely a young man fighting on a battlefield for the first time. Look at my face—I have not even grown a full beard yet. If I had proposed those plans to you, would you have agreed?"

Roose Bolton's body trembled. There was no doubt now—Jon was speaking on his behalf.

And coming from Jon's mouth, those words naturally carried much more weight.

Those who had been shouting to support Jon taking command finally calmed down.

Unbelievable light shone in Howland Reed's eyes.

He had not expected Jon to withstand such temptation.

Jon left his seat and walked before the gathered northern lords, stopping right between Roose Bolton and the others.

"Jon, you have already proven yourself," a Manderly noble said.

"But luck played too great a part. What if the flood had come later?" Jon countered.

"My lords, I believe the most important thing in war is obeying orders.

"Lord Bolton was placed in command of the army by Robb's order. Now that my father is imprisoned, Robb's command is the highest command in the North!" As he spoke, Jon drew his sword.

With a crack, he split the chair before him in two.

A flash of cold steel fell, and the chair shattered into pieces. Those standing nearby even shuddered.

"Whoever dares to make a clamor and disobey orders again, I guarantee his fate will be the same as this chair!

"Now, my lords, please take your seats."

Those who had just been urging Jon to take command all sat down, though the admiration in their eyes for him only deepened.

Seeing the turmoil settle, Jon said,

"My lords, forgive my rudeness just now. Our enemy is right across from us. We absolutely cannot do anything that would delight them!"

Some sheathed their swords and steadied their emotions again.

"Jon is right."

"We did not think it through."

Everyone echoed him. Jon turned and gave Roose Bolton a slight bow.

Roose Bolton forced out an ugly smile, then motioned for his men to bring him a new chair.

Jon did not want this so-called command because most of these people were not truly supporting him. They were simply furious that Roose Bolton had abandoned them.

Even if it came before Robb, Robb might not agree.

On the other hand, by clearly declaring that he stood with Roose Bolton, Bolton would have to seek his approval for every battle plan in the future if he wanted to placate the other lords.

Indirectly, Jon's influence had increased enormously as well.

Sure enough, what happened next confirmed Jon's guess.

Having "regained" command, Roose Bolton said,

"My lords, we have already achieved our objective in this battle: drawing the Westerlands army's attention.

"Next, I intend to withdraw the army to the riverbank near The Twins. After all, we lack cavalry."

Having said that, Roose Bolton looked at the crowd, an unusual note of explanation in his voice.

Unfortunately, no one spoke. They all silently looked toward Jon.

Feeling their gazes, Jon said loudly,

"Lord Bolton's decision is extremely wise."

Since even Jon had spoken, the others responded one after another.

"Lord Bolton is right."

"Yes, we should withdraw first."

"That's right. We have quite a few wounded soldiers."

Though his order had been accepted, Roose Bolton still felt as sick as if he had eaten shit.

Jon had not fought him for command, yet command had effectively shifted hands.

From now on, every order he gave would need Jon's approval before it could be carried out.

How was he any different from a mouthpiece?

Meanwhile, the inconspicuous Howland Reed watched Jon with a look of approval, wondering how Eddard had raised such a "fine nephew."

While Roose Bolton fumed inwardly, Jon suddenly made a suggestion.

"Lord Bolton, we actually fought this battle rather well. Perhaps we can use that as leverage to negotiate with Tywin.

"At the very least, make him guarantee my father's safety first."

According to the original course of events, Eddard could be beheaded at any moment.

Jon wanted to fight for him.

After all, he was the former Jon's nominal foster father and, in truth, his maternal uncle. If he could be saved, he had to be saved.

"That's right! Those Westerlands men have already had a taste of our strength. We should make contact!"

"I support Jon's proposal!"

"I support it too!"

Seeing Jon's call met with unanimous support, Roose Bolton had no choice.

After all, there was nothing to criticize in the suggestion.

If they truly had to fight all the way to King's Landing, many people would die.

The northern nobles might shout their slogans loud enough to shake the heavens, but they kept their own calculations clear in their hearts.

Roose Bolton nodded, indicating that he would first send an envoy to contact the Westerlands camp.

Finally, Jon brought up the matter of having the Mountain Clans veterans join his command.

Roose Bolton naturally agreed without a second word.

After the meeting ended, Jon left surrounded by a host of nobles.

Following this act of yielding, his prestige clearly rose another level.

No one dared to bring up his status as a bastard again. Otherwise, either Harrion or Meiqi Saiwen would gladly cut off the head of that tactless fool.

"Jon, since you are unwilling to accept command of the army, the prisoners and the spoils of war are still yours," Meiqi Saiwen said after they left the tent.

"That's right, Jon. We know those prisoners cannot repay the debt of saving our lives, but please accept them."

"Accept them! If you refuse, we are not leaving!"

The crowd shouted over one another, leaving Jon no choice but to nod.

"All right. I accept your goodwill. My lords, please return and rest first. I will go see those prisoners."

Jon thought of the equipment carried by those Westerlands prisoners. It was quite good.

Even the weapons used by the Wildlings of the Mountain Clans were better than those of the old veterans.

Perhaps he could strip them off and give them to those veterans.

Those men might be in their fifties, but with a little better nutrition, they would not be much worse than younger men once they began fighting on the battlefield.

And these old veterans were not afraid of death. All they thought about was how to make their deaths worthwhile.

As long as they were properly managed, their fighting spirit would be among the best in the Seven Kingdoms!